


The Learning Curve

by NicoleKrystina



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Kindergarten Teacher, Teacher Beth, single parent, single parent! daryl, teacher, teacher/parent relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleKrystina/pseuds/NicoleKrystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s Meet-the-Teacher Night. You can’t look nicer than me, Daddy. Miss Beth can’t love you more’n she loves me.” Daryl looked down at himself—he was wearing oil-stained coveralls and his hair was way too long—and chuckled. “No danger o’ that, kid.” Kindergarten Teacher/Parent! AU. Bethyl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for such a long absence, but I hope you enjoy this new idea of mine. It won't be too long, but I should be able to update it regularly (for now, anyway). I don't own any of the recognizable characters. I wish I did, though!

The Learning Curve

Chapter I: Awake

 

A nudge from prodding fingers on his shoulder woke Daryl Dixon up. Disoriented, he opened his blurry eyes and was met with the frightened gaze of his five-year-old son.

“Gage? What are you doing up, kid?” Daryl mumbled, tilting his head to look at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Four thirty a.m. Daryl grit his teeth, biting back a groan.

“I think there’s something in my closet,” the little boy whispered, his tiny fists clutching his father’s bedclothes.

Hearing the genuine tremor in his son’s voice, Daryl reached to turn on the bedside lamp.

Gage was pale with fatigue and nervousness, his lips pursed to keep them from quivering. His big blue eyes blinked owlishly at him from behind thick black lashes, pleading. Daryl recognized the face from years of chasing monsters out from under beds and mid-afternoon tummy aches.  The kid was looking for comfort, and Daryl could do nothing but oblige him.

“Do you want to sleep in here tonight?” the older man asked, reaching out to pull the child up into his lap.  

Gage nodded enthusiastically before crawling into the space beside his father, worming under the covers. Daryl smiled at how tiny his son looked under the pile of blankets that swaddled him. He still couldn’t believe that this child was his own blood, someone who depended on him for survival because his DNA was fifty percent his own.

Daryl smoothed the feathery brown locks that fell across Gage’s forehead back from his face with a calloused hand, bent his face to brush a whiskery kiss to the top of his son’s head before reaching to put out the light once again.

Lying back against his pillow, Daryl waited with a smirk across his lips: the kid wouldn’t be on his own side for five minutes before he would be shoving his way onto Daryl’s.   

Just like clockwork, the boy drifted from his pillow to curl against his father’s chest, resting his little fist against Daryl’s heart. Gage’s soft breaths were warm against his skin, and he could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat beneath the dinosaur pajamas he wore.

Smoothing a hand up his son’s overheated back, the shirt stretched over it damp with nervous sweat, the older man felt his eyes growing heavy again. Keeping Gage tucked in the curve of his arm, Daryl fell asleep until his alarm clock woke him three hours later.

~*~

 

“Why’re you all dressed up?” Daryl inquired as his son scurried around their small kitchen, grabbing his _Scooby Doo_ lunchbox off the counter and placing it in his backpack.

Daryl had packed him a peanut butter sandwich – the kid was addicted to the stuff—and Daryl knew that it was the only item in the tin container that wouldn’t come back uneaten. His son was going through a phase where he only ate a select few things, and Daryl’s was running out of ideas as to what he could feed his kid for lunch.

He was having a hard time relating to Gage’s predicament—as a kid, Daryl ate whatever was in front of him or else he wouldn’t have eaten—and he often found himself wondering if other parents dealt with this kind of challenge, or if he was doing something wrong as a father.

Not wanting to delve too far into that train of thought, Daryl brought his attention back to Gage, who was sitting at the table wolfing down his bowl of cereal.

The five-year-old was clad in his best white shirt with a tie looped around his neck like a shoelace: Gage didn’t know how to tie a tie himself, and clearly had taken his best guess. Daryl only put those clothes out for Gage when it was picture day at school or when his godmother Carol dragged him to Sunday school.

“Where are the clothes you picked out last night? I put ‘em on your bedside table,” Daryl asked, munching on a piece of toast as he eyed his son curiously from across the table.  

Gage shrugged his narrow shoulders, calmly wiping milk from his chin with a paper napkin. “It’s Meet-the-Teacher Night.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows, slid a small glass of orange juice across the wooden surface until it was in the boy’s reach. He had known that Gage had a thing for his teacher for a while now, but it was never something that Daryl had considered having to discuss with his son in any real way. “Pretty sure you’ve met ‘er before. No need t’get dressed up on her account. ‘Sides, I thought it was me that’s ‘sposed to make a good impression.”

Gage rolled his eyes—Daryl hid a smirk behind his hand at the gesture—before sipping from the juice that his father had provided, his hands wrapped carefully around the glass so that he wouldn’t drop it. “You can’t look nicer than me, Daddy. Miss Beth can’t love you more’n she loves me.”

Daryl looked down at himself—he was wearing oil-stained coveralls and his hair was way too long but he was too damn lazy to cut it—and chuckled. “No danger o’ that, kid.”

The boy shot him a withering gaze from beneath his eyelashes—Daryl was going to _kill_ Carol—and finished his juice as he slid down from his perch. He sauntered off to what Daryl knew would be the washroom to brush his teeth before returning to the kitchen and handing his father a comb.

“Use it,” the boy advised solemnly, “and don’t be late! Miss Beth hates that.”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl tucked the comb into his pocket. “I’ll do my best.”

 


	2. Eyes Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! This one is twice as long, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes. All recognizable material is not mine. Enjoy!

Beth Greene was checking to make sure that the spinach salad she’d had for dinner hadn’t decided to take residence between her teeth when a hesitant knock on the door drew her attention.

When she lifted her eyes from her mirror, she saw no one in the doorway. Knowing the ways of kindergarteners, Beth rose from her desk to have a better look around.

As always, her classroom smelled like playdough and lunchmeat, but it was clean and colourful and that was all that mattered to Beth. Apparently, it was also enough for the small form that crowded the space in front of her desk.  

Gage Dixon stood turned with his back to her, practically bouncing with impatience. Beth knew the posture well: he was eagerly waiting for a parent to see something exciting, his body seemingly too small to contain his enthusiasm.

“Hello, Gage,” Beth exclaimed, a surprised smile blooming on her lips. Gage had never before brought a parent to a school event or field trip, so to see him in her classroom after school was a surprise. “Did you forget somethin’ at school today?”

As if startled to hear her voice, Gage spun around, a rosy blush on his cheeks. “No ma’am. My daddy’s here to meet ya. He’s old so he’s kinda slow, but he’ll be ‘ere in a minute.”

Anxious as she always was when meeting a parent—especially the last parent of the night—Beth smoothed her plum-coloured pencil skirt over her hips and thighs, making sure that her crisp white shirt with the purple lace collar was stain-free.

Beth had just enough time to assure herself that there was no paint or playground filth on her clothes before a frazzled man came skidding into the room.

Broad-shouldered and muscular, the man dominated her child-friendly space. He was tall and dark, his skin bronzed with sun and his dark hair falling straight into his eyes. He wore a denim button-up that was fraying and bleached at the seams, and Beth could tell that the shirt was not purchased already appearing distressed. Beneath the shirt’s thinning sleeves, his arms were powerhouses of muscle. He was trim and lean through the hips, his legs long and thighs brawny underneath dark pants.

Upon first glance, Beth would not have believed that the man before her was Gage’s father. Gage spoke of his father in the way that other kids spoke of Superman and astronauts: the man could do no wrong.

From Gage’s descriptions, Beth had had no idea what to expect. He might have been a corporate tycoon, or a pharmacist, or a podiatrist. What Beth hadn’t anticipated was a man that looked like he had walked off the pages of _GQ_ magazine, but in that realistic way where the sweat on the back of his neck was probably real and his tan probably wasn’t composed of bronzer and tinted foundation.

It took an exasperated sigh of Gage’s name for Beth to realize that the rugged figure was indeed the boy’s parent. The tone was too casual, too familiar to signify anything else.

His voice was deep and growly, a gruff pitch that Beth associated with villainous animated tigers and a scarred cartoon lion intent on vengeance: then again, Beth had always loved the villains.

“I thought I told ya to wait for me,” the man—Mr. Dixon—said as he reached his son, squeezing the young boy’s shoulder in his wide-palmed hand.

Gage looked up at him with a guilty expression that quickly faded into a sly grin. “Ya also said it was rude to keep people waitin’.”

Beth smiled mildly as she took in father and son. “It’s no trouble, Mr. Dixon. I’m Beth Greene, Gage’s teacher.”

The blonde held out a manicured hand for him to shake, and Beth surmised that without the action the man would not have noticed that Beth was there at all.

His eyes trained suddenly upon her, and if she hadn’t had his attention before, she certainly did now. They were scorching in their intensity, vivid in their depth. Their vivacity made her wonder what they would look like when they were drowsy and heavy-lidded after a catnap, clouded and unfocused with passion.

“Daryl,” he corrected her as he gripped her hand, shaking it deftly. His fingers were rough with callouses, his hold strong and firm. Beth felt a shiver up her spine, wondering how they might feel against more sensitive skin.

“Daryl,” she amended, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk that had been set up for the evening by some unwilling eighth-grade student.

Daryl sank swiftly and smoothly into the chair to her right, Gage climbing laboriously up into the chair beside him. Sitting side-by-side, Beth could see the startling resemblance between the two boys much more easily.

Gage had inherited Daryl’s inky brown hair, but Gage’s was endearingly curly where Daryl’s was straight. Though Gage’s was still round with childhood, she could see the beginnings of his father’s angular jaw and cheekbones. Daryl’s mouth was more stern, more straight lines than curves, but no less generous than his son’s soft bow.

Their eyes were what struck her the most strongly: deep blue cat eyes framed with sooty lashes. Though Daryl’s were fanned with the beginnings of laughter lines, more skewed and critical with the loss of childhood, Gage’s were just as curious and just as watchful.  

Realizing she had been staring, Beth drew her attention back to the matter at hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Daryl. Gage has said so much about you. It’s great to finally put a face to the name.”

Daryl shrugged while Gage beamed at his teacher, the elder man clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “S’just hard to get time off work is all. Kid never gives me enough notice.”

Gage blushed at his father’s chastising, tucking his hands beneath his legs to hide his fidgeting.

“You really don’t have anything to worry about. Gage is one of my most enthusiastic and advanced students. His reading skills are incredibly strong for a child of his age. Most of my students are nowhere near ready to read at his level. Do you work with him on it at home?” Beth asked, crossing her legs beneath her desk.

She could imagine Daryl and Gage tucked together on a robust sofa, curled up under a blanket reading _Oh the Places You’ll Go_. It was a warm image, a comforting one that gave her a tugging feeling in her stomach that had never taken root there before.

What was it about these two boys that made her feel like they were what she had been missing in her life?

Daryl shrugged again, nonchalant. “I do what I can.”

Beth looked over to Gage, who was flushed and trying not to smile about the attention he was getting. The blonde thought that the kid was one of the cutest she had ever seen, as well as one of the sweetest.

“Well it shows,” Beth murmured.

The kindergarten teacher watched as a blush bloomed across Daryl’s cheekbones, and Beth took the blush to be a gratified need for validation as a parent rather than a boastful gesture.

“How’s ‘is math?” Daryl asked, shifting in his seat and avoiding Beth’s eyes.

Beth knotted her fingers in her lap, contemplating why Daryl was so uncomfortable asking her questions about his own son. “It is not as strong as his literary skills, but it is definitely above average. He is exactly where he needs to be to be successful next year.”

Daryl’s eyes closed on a sigh, one that Beth wagered was one of relief. The young teacher wondered what had possibly happened to this man that had made him so insecure in his parenting. Had no one given him parenting advice? Where was Gage’s mother?

“Miss Beth, can I show ‘im my drawin’?” Gage asked, practically leaping out of his seat in his eagerness.

Beth chuckled, gesturing with a hand towards the wall where the piece of art hung. “Of course you can. Be careful not to rip it when taking off the tape!”

Gage scurried off, and Beth took the opportunity to talk to Daryl one-on-one.  “Gage is one of my best students. He listens attentively. He doesn’t speak when I’m speaking. He’s friendly to all the other kids. You’ve got quite a son. You should be very proud.”

“Really?” Daryl’s eyes, which had been fixed on the hands in his lap, lifted to hers suddenly; unguarded and so, so blue.

Beth was taken aback by his reaction, having so rarely seen such honesty from parents at interviews where the students were usually the insecure ones.

Before she could respond, however, Gage had returned with his art project. The boy shoved the drawing into his father’s hands, the edges crinkling under the pressure of his fingers.

“The assignment was to draw their parents doing what they do for a living,” Beth explain as Daryl stared intently at the work before him, “and Gage, of course, drew you.”

Beth knew what he was looking at: a simply drawn stick-figure sketch of Daryl, his arms noodle-like and thin but still able to lift the bright red car he held over his head. He wore coveralls with a name patch on the chest in ruby red crayon. At his feet lay a sterling grey crossbow, arrow notched and ready.

The Daryl in Gage’s drawing was a superhero, and to peer into Daryl’s face was to know that he understood exactly what the drawing meant.

“I’m a mechanic,” Daryl explained, laying the drawing on the corner of Beth’s desk as if it were a priceless treasure. “Nothing special.”

The blonde raised her eyebrows, watching as Daryl’s son looked up at him with eyes wide with adoration. The kid was perched at the older man’s side, fingers gripping his father’s bicep in a vise.  “Clearly your son doesn’t think so.”

Man and boy exchanged glances for a moment, the elder man’s gaze softening before he pulled his child into his arms. Their embrace was quick but firm, and Beth found it hard not to melt while watching them.

Gage shuffled back into his own seat, abashed at being so sentimental in front of his teacher, while Daryl ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment.

“You know,” Beth murmured to Daryl, “on Friday, Gage’s class is goin’ on a field trip to the county fair to see the pettin’ zoo and do some apple pickin’. I’m still in need of chaperones if you’d be interested in goin’.”

Daryl raised one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture, a restless roll of his torso that allowed Beth to see the untapped power there. It was interesting: it was enticing.

At twenty-six years old, Beth was acutely aware of what she wanted in her life and what she wasn’t currently getting. _Or hadn’t been getting for the last eight months, anyway._ However, she had a feeling that the twenty-somethings that she had gotten involved with in the past would appear the wet match to Daryl’s forest fire if she thought about them for too long in her current circumstances.

“Will you go, Daddy? Please, please, please!” Gage begged, gripping the arm of his father’s chair.

Daryl was quiet for a minute, considering.

As the blonde was about to point out that Daryl was under no obligation to join her or her class, his quiet, rumbling voice caught her by surprise. “I’ll be there.”

 

 


End file.
